The Middle
Hot Like Coffee
Mike took my hand and led me around the dance floor. He whispered in my ear that he’d been reminiscing about the day we met. His recollection of the event was spot-on and we both laughed out loud – louder than was polite. Others on the small dance floor looked at us and were probably wondering what we found so funny. But they would never know the secret we shared.
With Mike I laughed a lot because he's a nut. He made me laugh even when he was laughing at me. But, if I had to pinpoint one thing about him that made me deliriously happy it would be the way he allowed me to be… free.
Free. A four letter word that is more powerful than any other. More powerful than even love.
I had spent years learning how not to be free – how to be everything for everyone – which was not only impossible, it was impossibly exhausting.
Mike was different. He gave me liberty to be someone I couldn’t be in ‘real life.’ With him, I could be whoever I wanted to be and I could act any way I chose to act and he was okay with me.
Of course, he was also my Dom – a concept I was still getting used to. But, he made the idea easy to wrap my head around because he was, at least to me, the perfect mesh of an Alpha-Beta male.
Mike was sensitive enough to take my feelings into consideration and to be my friend but strong enough (in every way) to make me feel protected. For the first time in my life, I had a man who knew what he wanted and was confident enough in himself to take the time to learn what I needed – someone who knew the difference between being dominant and domineering. If I disrespected him or the rules we'd agreed on Mike was quick to correct me. But, he also knew the bratty side of me who would give him crap just for the sake of, well, giving him crap.
One type of crap I knew would lead to punishments (for corrections sake) and one I knew might lead to funishments (for the sake of having fun). With Mike I always knew where we stood with each other. That was comforting.
What more could a woman ask for? For me, that is definitely a rhetorical question.
The night had been wonderful: a light dinner served with my favorite Chardonnay at a table overlooking the glistening waters of the bay and then dancing – if you could call the way he held me close to him dancing. He was a terrible dancer. I mean really bad. So, unless I danced for him (which he often requested), we would just sway together – around and around – while he breathed me in.
Breathing me in. That’s exactly what it felt like he was doing when he held me.
The instrumental version of ‘My Drug’ by Anthony Mossburg had finished playing in the restaurant and I’d taken Mike's hand and pulled him off the dance floor. We’d already paid the check so he escorted me to the elevators. Once inside, I leaned down a bit and gently kissed him. His brown eyes were bright but I intended to make them brighter before the night was over.
The elevator doors opened and a distinguished looking couple joined us. They too were going UP so I reluctantly stopped kissing my guy. Standing silently beside him, I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm and smiled contentedly.
Mike asked which floor he could choose for the couple and, seconds later, all of us were on our way.
As we ascended, the couple began chatting and it was only then that I took note of the size of the elevator. It was positively cavernous. I’d heard of large elevators but this was almost ridiculous – it could probably hold at least thirty people. Then again, we were in a hotel known for parties so it made sense to transport as many people as possible.
My attention was abruptly drawn away from the size of the elevator when I felt Mike’s hand slip onto my lower back and lazily trace down to my bottom. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping and calling unwanted attention to us. Just as the elevator arrived at the destination of the couple he squeezed my cheek and, I think, the woman saw him do it. I blushed.
As the couple walked out, I shot him a warning look that I hoped said, ‘Be careful.’ He moved closer to me so that we were separated by only an inch or two. That and a single raised eyebrow was his only response to my warning glance. Without uttering a single word I knew what he meant... ‘Don’t worry.’
The elevator doors closed and I mentally willed the car to hurry up to the floor our room was on. Unfortunately, we were close to the top of the nearly 70 floor hotel and, as luck would have it, only one floor later the door opened again. To my dismay people poured in and we backed up towards the rear of the elevator. Ugh! We were going to be delayed getting to our floor.
This was definitely one of the groups our elevator was meant to transport. All of those who'd just entered were in their mid-20's to early-30's, most seemed to be a least one or two sheets to the wind and all of them were talking to each other – loudly. Well, all except for one.
One of the men in the group, a big man – well over six feet and two hundred pounds – with a crew cut (military most likely), caught my eye and began looking me up and down. Suddenly I felt like a
